


but thy eternal summer shall not fade

by iwritetrash



Series: shakespearean sonnets [2]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alfred is an actual ray of sunshine, Edward Drummond Lives, Edward is a sad boi, Implied/Referenced Sex, Loneliness, M/M, Pining, Summer, The Kiss™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 04:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15550119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritetrash/pseuds/iwritetrash
Summary: but thy eternal summer shall not fade,nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,when in eternal lines to time thou grow’st.~ sonnet xviii, william shakespeare





	but thy eternal summer shall not fade

**Author's Note:**

> i have pretty much no memory of writing this. i remember waking up in the middle of the night with an idea and that's about it. like, when i woke up i thought i'd dreamed it, and then i opened up my laptop and here it was. also, can you believe i took a cute, happy sonnet, and i still made it a little bit angsty? yeah, that's me. 
> 
> also im mostly ignoring the show - the whole florence engagement subplot? yeah, i didn't bother with that. also drums died in january and the kiss happened in summer so im fucked with the timeline of the show a lil bit.
> 
> enjoy!

It’s on a warm, midsummer evening that Edward’s breath catches in his throat at the sight of Alfred, hair ablaze in the light of the setting sun that cash sharp shadows across his delicate features. It’s on that same evening that Edward’s heart swells with want, no, _need_ , and suddenly all he can think about is Alfred’s lips. 

It’s the summer heat, the crackling anticipation that seems to hang in the warm air, that finally pushes him to cross the carefully orchestrated distance between them and kiss Alfred with everything in him.

The heat of that summer seems to sink into his bones, warming him to his core as he fills his days and nights with stolen moments with Alfred, even when they return to London. Something about it makes everyone around them seem looser, more relaxed, as though their only purpose is to soak up the sun while it still shines. Nothing else seems to matter. Just for a little while.

Inevitably, it is on one an early autumn evening, when the heat of summer is fading slowly and giving way to rain and drifts of fallen leaves, that Edward realises what Alfred has come to mean to him. 

It is as Alfred is slipping out of bed, stealing a sheet to wrap around himself as he goes, as though Edward has not already seen every part of him, that Edward feels a hollow ache settle in his gut at the thought that Alfred will have to leave soon.

He can’t explain it, can’t explain how his life feels lighter with Alfred in it, as though summer had not yet ended. His eyes trace Alfred’s golden hair, and the fair skin on show where he hasn’t quite finished buttoning up his shirt yet. Certainly, Alfred is a man of the summer, like a creature who exists in a permanent spotlight beamed down from heaven itself. 

Alfred himself is like a soft summer day, bringing memories of the grass under their backs as they watched clouds float lazily overhead, and the heat of skin on skin under thin sheets. He seems to have a permanence, though, an endurance that lasts beyond the waning of the seasons, trapping Edward in a warm summer with even the simplest of smiles. Can he call it a trap if he never wants to escape?

Edward is not one to wax poetic like Alfred does - words have never been his strong suit - but on that autumn night, Edward asks him to stay for the first time, to avoid the rain outside, he says. Alfred freezes, illuminated faintly by light from the streetlamp outside Edward’s window bleeding into the room through the crack in the curtains.

He can’t. Of course he can’t. He has to go before anyone is awake to see him sneaking out of Edward’s door in the small hours of the morning. Avoiding the scandal is everything for men like them. 

So he goes.

That night is the first night Edward has been cold since summer began.

He brings more blankets, piles them on one by one, until he can barely move under the weight of his covers, and yet still he can’t escape that chill that takes up residence in his bones when Alfred is gone, like a cloud has passed over the sun. No amount of blankets can disperse the cloud blocking him from Alfred’s warmth. 

And then Alfred returns to him, and, even in the depths of winter, with snow falling around them, it is as though summer never left.

**Author's Note:**

> lmao im so sorry about the amount of times i talked about summer and the sun and being warm yikes i apologise 
> 
> i hope you liked this! it was a genuine attempt at a happy sonnet for once... thank you for reading! <3
> 
> i promise im gonna write some spellbound oneshots at some point. i have a whole list, it's going to happen!
> 
> i thrive on feedback and comments <3


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